Sail Away
by Jaeyan
Summary: Flapjack has been away from Stormalong for over ten years. A business trip returns him to his old home, but things are not how they once were. F/K -slash-
1. Disclaimer

_**Sail Away**_

Disclaimer:

Well, I don't own Flapjack. Obvious enough. But I'm going to borrow it, just for a little while.

This story **WILL** contain F/K Slash. _**Don't like, don't read**_. Flames with promptly be ignored. This is mainly to get back into the habit of writing.

_Expect chapter 1 soon!_


	2. A True Misadventure

**A True Misadventure**

Small tornadoes of paper stirred in an office, the parchment scattering about the small and cluttered room. Slowly, Will stood, pushing away from the heavy wooden desk with a tired sigh, rubbing a hand across his cheek. His legs felt weighted as he took a careful step to the window, a charter gripped within in his hand. With a snap, he pulled the window closed, immediately halting the fresh ocean air and stilling all movement, the once animated paper losing all vitality. He pressed his forehead against the cool, warped glass, giving a start as the door swung open loudly, the husky scent of cinnamon and sandalwood rushing in before the man had ever met his eyes.

"Mr. Lisle?" Will's first mate stood in the open doorway, a small barrel tucked under his arm. Green eyes stared curiously from a dirty face, glancing about the disheveled office. "We're about ready to set sail for Stormalong, Captain." Daniel shifted anxiously in his captain's silence, moving the barrel from one arm to another.

"Thank you, Danny."

"Well…" Daniel hesitated, his fingers toying with the iron handle of the thick wooden door, tapping it idly. He only had a small idea of the memories the faraway harbor held for his captain, but he knew enough to gather that it held a mixture of feelings for him, the most recent of which must have been extremely painful. "Just head out to the dock when you're ready to ship out." He offered a sympathetic smile and half shrug, shaking chestnut hair from his eyes as he made a quiet exit.

Will fell into an overstuffed armchair, dust flying from the usually vacant seat. He was suddenly tired and nauseous, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let his eyes fall closed. Leaning his head back, old memories surfacing for what must have been the hundredth time.

An overcast sky hung over the sea, the ocean churning with the approaching storm. The gray-green water was littered with debris, wooden planks and broken sails floating on the foaming waves. Will clung to the cool blue skin of a whale, his body drenched in saltwater and his muscles aching. His twelve year old self pressed his face into the whale's flesh, holding on so tightly that his fingers stiff with pain. He could hear swearing lined with fear behind him, his name covering the phrases of concern.

"Stay down, Flapjack. Keep your head down. Let's move it, Bubbie!"

"I'm moving as fast as I can!"

He could hardly remember how the whole scenario had even started. There had been screaming and swearing and punches. Now the sounds of cannons rang in his ears, the thunderous sound deafening him. Despite the command, Will raised his head, risking a glance over his shoulder. Knuckles was close to him, a panic and exhaustion controlling his features. The man turned, his tired, bloodshot eyes focusing on him with genuine worry. At the time, all Will understood was that he was in danger. He tucked his head against Bubbie's back, only to feel an arm tighten around his waist as he was pulled away from the sense of security.

"I'm taking the boy!" Knuckles shouted to the whale, clutching Will to his chest. The familiar scent of peppermint collided with Will's nose, stinging slightly in his saltwater damp lungs.

"Take care of my baby. I love you, Flapjack."

"I love you too, Bubbie." Will barely had time to utter the words before he was plunged into the cold water, Knuckles gripping him still tighter. The ocean filled his lungs as he gasped for air, his throat burning. He twisted in Knuckles' arms as the man swam fervently, craning his neck to look to the whale.

Bearing down on the blue mammal was a large ship, tattered masts hovering in the horizon. Smoke erupted from the cannons as the heavy weapons fell into the water with enormous eruptions of waves.

"Don't look, Flap." Knuckles pulled the boy inward, trying to turn him away from his lifelong companion. Will pressed his chin into the man's shoulder, watching Bubbie stop and turn on the ship. She charged, her powerful tail churning the water into foam. A cannonball crashed into her side, sending her tumbling beneath the turbulent sea. She regained quickly, her pale skin now bruised a dark purple as she continued to rush forward, her screams as loud as thunder. Another cannonball ripped through one of her fins, the limb hanging onto her body only by sinew and tendons, and a pool of darkness soon gathered in the water.

Will dug his fingers into Knuckles back, eyes wide as he watched the horror in front of him. His dearest friend was being barraged with cast iron, her pace slowing and injuries increasing.

"Bubbie!" He tugged at Knuckles, trying to break free with all the strength his tired muscles could afford. He had to help her—He couldn't just let her die without trying something, anything, to assist her.

"I said don't look, boy!" Knuckles hissed, pulling him in violently as he continued to swim, making the boy sputter as the air was forced out of his lungs.

Within minutes Will found himself dragged onto a dark shore, water and bile mixing on the sandy beach. He had barely emptied his lungs and stomach when he was yanked to his feet, Knuckles' rough, wooden hand tight around his wrist.

"Run!"

"What about Bubbie?" Will stumbled behind Knuckles, tripping over rocks and tree roots, trying to keep up with the man's longer stride. He gave a forceful tug on the adventurer's arm, hoping to convince him to turn back, or at least slow down. All he received was a forceful jerk of his own arm in response, his elbow making a loud noise in response, but Will hardly felt the pain anymore.

"Bubbie's given us a bit more time. Keep moving."

Even as they broke into the jungle brush of the island, Knuckles remained silent, constantly quieting the boy while hurrying his pace, his eyes searching among the bushes and trees. Will followed suit, looking at every shadow, but unsure of what was to be found. He hurried after his captain, wishing Bubbie would be fine, waiting on the other side of the island with a huge smile as if everything was over and there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

Will never saw what hit him. He was pulled away from Knuckles' tight hold, slamming into a tree with such force that the joints in his back cracked with the impact. He faintly heard Knuckles voice as he crumpled to the ground, his ribs aching and his vision blurry. Clutching his sides, he rolled onto his back, staring up at an unfamiliar shape hovering over him.

The man was thin, his yellow complexion seeming to enhance his appearance of a chronically sick man. Apathetic eyes stared out of a skill-like face, watching Will's every move with measured reaction. Slowly, the man bent down, and bony, gnarled hands reached out for the boy's throat.

The child's eyes went wide as he flung his hands to his mouth, trying to stifle a startled scream so surprise and horror. The man above him halted, slowly lowering his head, turning his attention to his own abdomen. There, sticking out through his ribs, was the end of a rusted scimitar that had previously rested at the man's hip. Blood soaked the thin, dirty shirt that the man wore, staining and spreading. The man fell heavily to his knees, his eyes growing vacant as he was pushed to the side by a frantic Knuckles. Will could only stare, he mouth moving without sound.

"William!"

The captain gave a start at the obscene screech, a hand flying up to cover his ear, now ringing from the noise. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking several times as he did so, and turned his face up to the woman hovering over him.

Rose flipped a handful of red curls over her shoulder, glaring at him as her hands fell to her hips. She was an attractive woman, with a youthful heart-shaped face that matched her age perfectly. Pink lips that were usually in a pout now resting in a scowl, her brown eyes narrowing in contempt as she tapped a foot impatiently.

"What in the world are you doing sleeping at a time like this? The ship is out there, waiting for you. If you don't make these shipments, you don't get paid." She wrinkled her nose, crossing her arms as she inclined her head. It was a habit she had picked up as a child and still frequently employed. "And that means that I won't get the nice things I deserve for being so devoted to a man that is constantly away."

Will sighed as he looked up at his fiancée, a heavy sigh that had it's meaning lost on the young woman, and pulled himself from the chair. The Rose had been spoiled her entire life, the only child to a wealthy landowner, and was accustomed to receiving everything she demanded immediately and without question. The concern of whether the constant headaches were worth the end result, and he generally tried to convince himself that it was, but for what reason he couldn't even begin to fathom. It was no easy task to find a woman that would accept the responsibilities that his job required of him so easily, and even though she constantly reminded him of his prolonged absences, she was always there when he returned. Even if it was only to declare she was entitled to some form of gift.

"I really must be going…" He stooped down, picking up the yellow parchment that had fluttered out of his hand. He glanced up, noticing that Rose hadn't stopped her chatter to hear him. Keeping to himself he moved about the small office, he let her give her personal opinion on the most recent gossip floating around about some couple he'd never even heard of as he gathered his things. After securely placing all of his necessities in a burlap sack and tying it tight, he straightened himself, taking a step forward.

"The ship will leave without me." He stated finally, interrupting Rose mid-sentence and maneuvered his way around her, reaching the door without having some object thrown in his direction for not allowing her to finish.

"Oh, it will not." Rose twisted her mouth, looking him over as he opened the door. How dare he interrupt her! Sure, he was attractive enough, but she couldn't stand his nonchalant attitude towards her. All the men on Ferris Island wanted her, but she had to settle for the man who wouldn't give his money to her—not yet. The marriage would surely make it easier for her to get what she wanted, and with the date quickly approaching, it was only a matter of time. She took a small step forward, standing with a hip popped.

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"

"I've kept the men waiting long enough. I'll be back in a few weeks." He closed the door behind him, adding punctuation to his statement, and left Rose with a half-started word. He sighed softly, something he found he was doing frequently, and turned to his right, eying the man that waited for him.

He always waited.

"Ready to sail?" Daniel jumped down from the barrel he had been perched on, smiling broadly as he turned to face the ship. He inclined his head toward the door, giving a wink as a string of rather unladylike curses emitted from the other side, and it was obvious the man had to struggle to keep his laughter from showing.

"Yes, Danny. To Stormalong."


	3. Sixpence For Your Thoughts

**Sixpence For Your Thoughts**

A muffled groan erupted from beneath the heavy, soiled linens as a man pulled himself upright, away from the uncomfortable mattress. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking at the sunlight as he threw the wool blanket away from his legs as he shifted to the edge of the bed, clearing his throat and grunting the entire time. Hunched over, he stared at his feet on the threadbare rug with an obscene floral pattern for a long moment, shaking hair from his eyes. The idea of adorning anything in Stormalong with flowers was laughable.

He forced himself from the bed slowly, rubbing at his back as he stood. Feet shuffled across the worn carpet as he made his way to a large vanity mirror in the corner, his joints stiff and aching. Small bottles of perfume tipped and fell as he placed his palms on the desk, leaning into his reflection.

With significant effort, the man rose from the bed, gripping at his back and rolling his neck as he did so. The planks of wood beneath the carpet murmured as he made his way across the small bedroom to a vanity in the corner.

The thing was worn and old with various cracks and scratches, and the mirror tarnished in several places, but it was obvious the piece of furniture was almost in constant use. Small bottles of perfume and boxes of makeup littered its surface, creating an overwhelming and unusual scent. The man paused a minute before clearing away several of the small items with a quick sweep of his hand, pressing his palms on the wood before leaning forward at his reflection.

Tilting his head from side to side, Knuckles eyed the thick stubble that covered his face, frowning as he ran his fingers over it. After deciding that shaving would not be worth the effort, he paused, staring at the body portrayed before him. It had been ten years since he had changed, but his disfigured body seemed more natural to him than this.

His skin no longer had the dark blue hue that it once displayed, but rather had become an earthy color, tanned from years spent in the sun. His body was more proportionate, the overly large nose significantly smaller, and his frame was that of an average man's, rather than a shapeless block of flesh and wood. In fact, almost all of his appendages that once had been prosthetics now had returned to a state of skin, muscle and bone, save for his left hand. The old joints creaked slightly as he flexed it, frowning.

The shape of a woman lying in the bed was reflected in the piece if glass, her naked back peeking out from beneath the covers. Knuckles turned to her, watching her body rise and fall with each sleeping breath. There had been a time when he had lusted after Ysabelle Leading like every other man in Stormalong, but once he had obtained her, she had instantly lost appeal. Their first rendezvous has been exciting—playing the part of forbidden lovers as they hid from her husband—but it wasn't fulfilling. He didn't love her, no matter how much Ysabelle insisted.

Pulling away from the vanity, he moved to the opposite side of the bed, shoving his legs into his trousers with a little less grace than he would have liked. With muscles aching he moved about the room, gathering up the remainder of his clothes and dressing himself. He stopped as his own movement in the mirror caught his attention. He had the appearance of a man in his late thirties, but his eyes were tired and worn. For some reason he couldn't imagine, he felt like a hypocrite.

Now thoroughly awake, he moved to the nightstand silently, snatching up a small coin purse. Giving it a little shake, he opened the old velvet, coins sparkling in the morning light. He poured them out into his hand, counting them and taking a mental note of the number before dropping them into his pocket, returning the purse to it's proper place.

Without a second glance to the sleeping Ysabelle, he made his way from the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. He moved slowly down the stairs, looking to the various pictures that hung on the wall. A custom, whenever he left the Leading home. Relatives were framed and smiling, looking carefree and content in their flat homes. A wedding portrait made him pause, but keeping thoughts from his mind, he forced his way out the front door.

The sun had only risen moments before and the coolness of the night lingered on the Harbor. The streets were fairly barren, with the only souls moving about the shopkeepers, tiredly turning locks and preparing their businesses for the day to come. The familiar sting of salty air met Knuckles as he moved towards the docks, stopping as he reached the doors of the Candy Barrel.

The sea-aged building had become a familiar home to him over the years, often spending a significant amount of his time within its walls. Sighing, he leaned against the damp wall, crossing his arms as he waited for the owner to appear and open its doors.

Letting his mind and eyes wander, he glanced out to the sea, immediately noticing a decently sized trader ship waiting at the far docks, large white masts billowing softly in the wind as sailors scurried about like ants, preparing the ship to port. They moved about across the deck with learned efficiency, carrying crates and barrels back and forth. Probably the personal ship of some wealthy trader.

"Grand ship, isn't it?"

Knuckles was startled out of his reverie but the abrupt words, turning to Peppermint Larry as he unfolded his arms. The last few years had not been particularly kind to the man, his features offering the most obvious of proofs. His already lean frame had become even thinner, his wife's blatant affair taking a great tax on him. His cheeks had lost most of their color and had become gaunt, the man's generally kind smile now replaced by a much sadder one.

The retired adventurer watched as Larry shoved a key into the lock of the door, running thin fingers through his graying hair. He sighed heavily, pausing as he placed the keys back into his pocket.

"It's still amazes me," Larry glanced to him, his hand poised on the doorknob, as if debating whether to carrying on the conversation inside or not. "Here I am, going gray at my age, and you don't look like you're even forty. I guess I'll never understand."

The owner of the Candy Barrel fell silent after that, staring at the grain of the wooden door. Knuckles felt as if social etiquette demanded his said something to comfort the man, but he had never been adept at offering sympathy. He struggled, trying to come up with anything adequate to say, but was interrupted before he could even begin.

"I envy you." The Larry continued on, eyes seeming to look through the door to something beyond it. There was a long pause, and Knuckles shifted uncomfortably, waiting for him to continue. "You have no real responsibilities. If you wanted, you could go anywhere in the world. But you chose to stay here." He pushed away from the door, turning to Knuckles completely. "Why?"

Knuckles faltered, unsure how to answer the man's question. He himself didn't know why. He had thought about leaving the harbor numerous of times before, but he couldn't bring himself to actually carry out the deed.

"I don't run away." Knuckles said finally, feeling satisfied with his answer, and hoping it would placate the man. The conversation had turned awkward enough, and he didn't want to continue it.

"Spoken like a true adventurer." Larry offered him a weak smile, pushing the door open. He made his way behind the counter, waving a hand as he began to get organized for the day. "That ship is carrying my latest order. Once I get the shipment in, I'll get you a drink."

Knuckles nodded slowly, turning to have one last look at the vessel before walking into the dim candy shop turned tavern. An unusual feeling welled up inside him, his heart beating quickly as he slid into his usual booth. Something different was going to happen that day. He could taste it on the wind.


End file.
